


Quacking Up

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Wonderfalls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-19
Updated: 2008-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 03:40:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1629572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Story by V</p><p>Sometimes you feel like a nut. Sometimes that's fine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quacking Up

**Author's Note:**

> Written for bravenewcentury

 

 

She could not be more confused.

Her sister sits across from her at the restaurant she has selected: the nice restaurant to which Jaye is wearing jeans. Jeans and sneakers. That coat she always wears is draped over the back of her chair. It looks like the remnants of a flayed muppet.

Murder in Mister Rogers' Neighborhood.

The cause of death would appear to be drowning, because the coat is soaked completely through, as is Jaye herself. Her hair is plastered down flat against her scalp. Her chair makes a squelching noise every time she shifts her weight. Even the carpet around the chair is damp, and none of the waitstaff look happy about it.

Sharon's water glass is empty. It is not going to be refilled. That is how things work in the food-service industry.

On the chair beside Jaye sits an umbrella. It is red. It is the sort of umbrella that has a handle which, instead of hook, has been fashioned into the shape of a duck's head. The umbrella sits duck-end up.

The umbrella is bone dry.

Sharon cannot stop staring at it. Jaye drips. The garish yellow of her Emporium vest has started to run, staining the white piping along its collar and arm-holes.

 _Scowl_ , scowl the waitstaff. _Scowl scowl scowl_.

Jaye doesn't seem to care. In fact, Sharon feels comfortable enough to assume Jaye simply does not care. Not about the waitstaff. Not about the vest.

Her strange little apparently nasally-deficient co-worker will probably have a nasally-deficient conniption and Jaye will not care.

_And earlier..._

"So you're a lesbian," the Mouthbreather announces, apropos nothing, as she waits at the Emporium's register, where they had agreed to meet. Jaye is supposed to be at work, but of course, is not, has not been; possibly never will be. "A lesbian and a lawyer."

Sharon does not even dignify that with a response at first, only to glance down a few moments later to find the Mouthbreather gazing up at her with the sort of awe-struck shining eyes children usually reserve for unemployed actors in giant foam animal costumes at theme parks.

"And at the same time" he continues, in reverent, hushed tones. "Wow."

And yet, next to Jaye, even he looks sane.

"...right," she agrees, peeking at her watch.

Late.

"You know," the Mouthbreather chirps, "we at Wonderfalls Gift Emporium enjoy celebrating diversity in all its many forms. Our Pride Bear is available, not just in October, but all year round."

She wonders if he is animatronic. 

He holds out a plush bear clutching a rainbow flag in its little bear paws, which Sharon does not take. When she doesn't, his customer service smile falters; wobbles somewhere around his lower lip, and he places the bear very carefully next to the register, giving it a little pat on its little bear head.

Sharon allows herself a sigh, which even she would admit might be a tad over-dramatic.

"Why do we put up with this?" She grouses to no one in particular. Certainly not to the mouth-breathing mannequin.

He shrugs. He counts the pennies in the 'take a penny, leave a penny' dish. He takes two pennies and places them on the lip of the register. 

"She can just be so selfish."

This time the Mouthbreather nods, but busies himself dusting. And that's fine: this wasn't a conversation Sharon intended to put herself in the middle of anyway.

"I'm sorry," she apologizes. "You're obviously...busy..."

(The store is empty.)

"...and we both know that Jaye doesn't like you, and you don't like Jaye-" 

He looks up; cocks his head at her, like a puppy. Like a puppy with a bowl-cut.

"I like Jaye."

Sharon doesn't want people to dislike Jaye. They aren't family. They don't have that right.

Jaye cares only about the duck-brella. She shoots it sudden, meaningful glares every now and then, like it's seriously ruffling her feathers.

She keeps insisting Sharon take it.

Sharon has her own umbrella that in no way resembles wild-life of any kind. Sharon has a raincoat even. Sharon draws the line at galoshes, because Sharon is not _that kind_ of lesbian, but Sharon is the dry one here. If anyone needs a stupid umbrella, it's Lake Jaye.

"I just don't understand," Sharon says. "What _is_ the point?"

Her sister's lips are pressed together in a tight, determined line.

"You don't have to," Jaye replies.

"Fine," Sharon says, nodding curtly.

"...just take it," Jaye continues.

She will throw her napkin. She will hurl it to the ground and tell Jaye that she is through; that she can play these sorts of games with her little friend who likes the zoo, but the rest of the world doesn't have the time. She will grasp the duck by its umbrella neck and squeeze and shake, because this is not how sisters bond.

"Why," Sharon says, icily. It's not even a question.

Her sister stares across the table at her. A bead of water forges a path down her forehead and toward the tip of her nose. Her eyes cut toward the umbrella. There's a vaguely defeated look in them.

"Because," Jaye declares, her gaze still fixed on the chair beside her, "you'll get wet."

The bill comes. Sharon pays. Jaye stands and holds the umbrella out to her, duck-end up.

There's no choice, really, but to take it. Only then does Jaye seem to relax and attempt to push her wet hair behind her shoulders. Strands of it still cling to her cheeks.

"Great," she says, with an almost manic smile. "We should do this again."

She goes back to work. Or, more than likely, not to work.

Sharon stands under an overhang in front of the restaurant. Her purse weighs down the crook of her elbow. Her umbrella is in one hand. The duck umbrella is in the other. This, of course, means she cannot open either one easily.

Someone is standing beside her.

"Oh my god," the woman says. She's tall, well dressed, and her red hair is arranged neatly in a bun at the nape of her long, graceful neck. "Was it raining this badly before?"

She turns to Sharon and catches sight of her dual wielded rain-gear.

Sharon does not offer her the duck.

"Here," she says, holding out her own umbrella.

"Are you sure?" The woman asks. The rain drums against the ground around them, and Sharon nods. Her ankles are getting damp.

"Just take it," she insists.

The woman reaches out for it. Their fingers brush.

Sharon's gaydar goes 'ping!'.

The duck has nothing more to say.

 


End file.
